


Midnight Oil

by Renaerys



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Miraculous, F/M, I have a problem, Porn With Plot, Read at your own discretion, and also because i'm trash with a one-track mind, and i am entirely okay with that, don't look at me okay, flirty bantering because chloluka, it's here and it's happening and it's done, that M rating is for smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 03:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renaerys/pseuds/Renaerys
Summary: Chloé is pissed when Sabrina cancels on their girls' night out, but she's not one to waste a perfectly amazing outfit. The alluring bartender chats her up, and somewhere in the midst of suggestive banter and shameless flirting, she starts to wonder if maybe the night isn't wasted, after all.





	Midnight Oil

**Author's Note:**

> -Slams fist on table- I want ChloLuka smut, and so I shall goddamn have ChloLuka smut.
> 
> WARNING: Mature sexual content. Please read at your own discretion.

****“I want a love that can take me down  
Show me up and cross off all my doubts  
I want a fire and a steady man  
Come on show me if your love can.”

* * *

 

The Crescent Lounge was dimly lit, mahogany-furnished, underground hooka bar moderately populated for 8 p.m. on a Wednesday. Patrons reclined on plush, leather couches around elaborate hooka pipes passing hits, whispers, and the occasional kiss. Soft R&B played through the speakers and lent a buttery finish to the smokey-golden ambience. It was the kind of place wealthy thirty- and forty-somethings retreated to escape their corporate overlords and sink back into a languid, sensual facsimile of their wealthy, twenty-something youth. 

Chloé Bourgeois did not belong at the Crescent Lounge. Her blow-out-perfect blonde hair did not belong here. Her Italian yellow silk camisole, designer black-leather leggings, and four-inch fuck-me-pumps did not belong here. For one, she had no interest in either Molly or Maria—those bitches had lost their allure in her second year of business school when they kept her from a few too many early morning barre classes. Highs came and went, but a size two ballerina’s body was forever, she would make goddamn sure of it. 

For another, this wasn’t her crowd. Stressed suits looking for a few hours to escape were a dime a dozen in hotel management; there was no need to seek them out here. But Chloé wasn’t here for herself. At least, that had been the plan. 

The minute she’d walked in the door and shucked her coat at the check, Sabrina called with the most ridiculous emergency excuse Chloé had ever heard. She wasn’t coming, even though this place had been _her_ idea. _She_ wanted to lose herself in a lovely stupor after the shit week at work she’d had, and Chloé was gracious enough to accompany her. Even though Chloé would never have set foot in such a deadbeat excuse for a hooka den. She had half a mind to just grab her coat, go home, and do something spiteful and self-loathing, like order an entire pizza—with _garlic_. 

She checked the ride share app on her phone and frowned. Surge prices were running at 3x the normal rates, and the wait time for her location was twenty minutes. Eight fucking p.m. on a Wednesday. 

One drink, then. One drink, and then she’d get the hell out of here. In this outfit she was sex on legs and there was no way she was going to let Uber waste the painstaking two hours she’d spent making herself look amazing. It had been a long time since she’d had a night off herself, anyway. 

She crossed the room with the confidence of a supermodel on a catwalk, comfortable in her impractically gorgeous heels. Eyes followed her to the bar, and she let herself smirk. Whoever said thirty was middle-aged was a sexist piece of trash who’d never lain eyes on Chloé Bourgeois—or any other actual human woman, _let’s be honest_.

She slipped into a high stool at the end of the mahogany bar and tossed her clutch on the counter. There were some other patrons at the bar, including two chatty women absorbed in their conversation and strawberry daiquiris, and a slim, very attractive, dark-skinned man in a suit who looked to be in his forties drinking alone. His dark eyes alighted on Chloé at the opposite end of the bar, looking but not lingering long enough to be rude or obvious. She ignored him and pulled out her phone to text Marinette. Might as well see if anyone else was open to going out tonight now that Chloé had already dragged her ass out of her apartment for once. 

“What’s your poison?”

Chloé focused on typing her message to Marinette and didn’t even glance up. “Martini, dirty.”

“Gin or vodka?”

She flipped her bangs and rattled the gold and diamond bangles on her wrist. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would drink a fucking _vodka_ martini?”

“You look like the kind of woman who would drink arsenic and love the taste.”

Chloé looked up at the cheeky bartender and bit her tongue. He was tall, vaguely Asian—maybe half—his black hair highlighted blue at the ends. A traditional bartender’s three-piece suit rolled up at the sleeves flattered his lean, lanky figure but not his personal style. White teeth peeked out from behind supple lips curved in a playful smirk, and half-lidded, dark eyes gave him a sleepy look. On a snap judgment, because Chloé was convinced that snap judgments were the one infallible truth in a world ruled by airbrushed Instagram pictures and curated Twitter feeds, she pegged him as the starving artist type who’d been doing this job long enough to know how to balance sex appeal, provocative conversation, and genuine warmth to approach but not spook rich women in need of a stiff drink and a reason to part with a large tip. 

“And you look like the kind of man who would envy the glass,” she said.

His laugh was caramel rich and just as soft. Which was something, considering laughter had a way of either ruining a pretty face or elevating it to unforeseen heights. In his case, Chloé was not above admitting, it flattered him. Probably his clients, too. 

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I’ll be right back with your martini.”

Chloé watched him cross the bar and select a bottle of gin from the mirror-backed display. Her blue eyes discreetly dropped to his bare forearms—sinewy, not too muscular. Long fingers, soft fingers, an artist’s hands. Her gaze trailed down his back to his ass as he bent down to retrieve a jar of green olives from the mini fridge. She popped a peanut in her mouth and licked the salt from her fingers. Across the bar, the older suit caught her eye as he loosened his tie and exposed a bit of collarbone. She bit her tongue and returned to her phone. 

[Marinette: Ugh I would LOVE to come out but I have an all-nighter ahead of me. Big deadline tomorrow.]

[Chloé: Boo you whore.]

[Chloé:  💔 ]

[Marinette: Ha I wish. Adrien’s been on my ass about not being on my ass with all the work I’ve been drowning in.]

[Chloé: Gross I do NOT want to hear about A’s relationship with your ass these days jfc. You know he’s basically my brother.]

[Marinette: Your super gorgeous supermodel brother.]

[Chloé: Don’t.]

Marinette sent a picture from one of Adrien’s recent spreads. It was for a new boxer-brief line that left very little to the imagination. Chloé rolled her eyes.

[Chloé: STOP]

[Marinette: Lol you’re not usually this cranky. Maybe you should get laid or something??]

Chloé chuckled derisively. “Bitch.”

“Something I said?” The hot bartender returned with her martini and slid it across the bar counter to her.

“Not you, just my so-called friend calling me out on my dry spell.” Chloé dragged the martini closer and took a sip. Two olives, pitted, floated near the bottom. The alcohol went down smoothly, no burn at all. Pity.

“Sounds serious. I know a good lawyer if you need one.”

Chloé snorted. “I might take you up on that.”

[Marinette: But for real, have fun!! You’re a hot, single lady out on the town, and I’ve literally never known you to waste an outfit.]

Chloé opened her Camera app and handed her phone to the bartender. “Take a picture of me.”

He looked amused, but accepted her phone nonetheless. “Not one for selfies?”

“I never do anything myself if I can get someone else to do it for me.” She fluffed her hair and lifted her glass for the picture. 

He grinned. “Good to know. Say ‘dry spell’.”

She flipped him off and he grinned wider, snapping a few more pictures. “Has anyone told you slut shaming your customers is the surest way not to get tipped?”

He handed her back her phone, and she scrolled through the pictures he’d taken. “Wouldn’t that technically be the opposite of what I just did?”

She eyed him over her phone. He was leaning casually toward her over the bar with those unforgivable bedroom eyes. Chloé licked her lips and fired off one of the pictures of her flipping off the camera to Marinette. 

[Marinette: Ooh-la-la! Ice and spice! Get some, girl!]

Chloé set aside her phone again and turned her full attention to the bartender. He was still hovering, waiting. 

“I can’t decide if you’re really good or really bad at your job,” she said. 

“The night’s young. Plenty of time to ruin it, or be ruined.”

_Now who’s the slut?_

Chloé wondered how many women this act worked on. Probably a lot, considering it was maybe _sort of_ working on her, and she had standards, thank you _very_ much. “I wasn’t planning on staying. My friend bailed at literally the last minute.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently, her Corgi shit out a disco ball.”

He looked somehow very serious while on the verge of laughing. “Glitter poop?”

“Glitter poop,” Chloé deadpanned. “She’s afraid of what else he ate, so she had to rush him to the vet. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Well, I’m sorry you got stood up. But if you decide to stick around, I promise to cool it on the slut shaming.”

“Haven’t you heard? Apparently, I could do with some slut shaming these days.”

He watched her a moment, and she held his gaze. It lingered a little too long to be innocent, to be friendly. Her bare arms prickled with the threat of gooseflesh.

“Stay,” he said. “Give me a chance to earn back that tip.”

The invitation came out sounding less like an invitation and more like… No, not a command, but the promising possibility of one. Chloé sipped her martini, its frosted chill blazing in her belly. 

“If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t dream of making casual demands of me,” she said, baiting him. 

He leaned closer and ran his fingers up the thin stem of her martini glass, slowly. He was close enough for her to smell his subtle cologne. “If I knew who you were, I’m sure I’d be making several demands of you, casual or otherwise.”

The innuendo went straight to her core, and a curling heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol pooled between her thighs. 

“Another round, please!” called one of the two chatty women a few seats down from Chloé. 

The bartender peeled himself back from the bar and Chloé’s personal space like a coiled cobra retracting his fangs. “Coming right up, ladies.”

He glided away, leaving Chloé a tempting view of his backside as he went. Back in her own space without him invading it, she breathed deeply and texted Marinette. 

[Chloé: You make a compelling point.]

[Marinette: You’re welcome.  👉👌 ]

“Jesus Christ,” Chloé said under her breath, stashing her phone once more. 

Surge pricing and pity pizza would be taking a rain check today, that was for fucking sure. Chloé was going out, and she was not going home alone if she could help it.

* * *

 

She finished her martini and got up to use the bathroom and touch up her makeup. When she returned to her bar stool, there was a new martini already waiting. She looked around, and the hot suit at the end of the bar tipped his glass to her. She wasn’t surprised considering, well, _her_. But it was nonetheless a bold move. The bartender watched her as he dried some freshly washed glasses with a towel. 

Chloé pulled her new martini closer, wondering what to do about this latest development. She’d only just decided not to go home alone tonight; she hadn’t planned on having to make a decision about who to bring.

“I wouldn’t,” the bartender said, drawing closer as he returned clean glasses to their racks beneath the bar. 

Chloé shot him a curious look. “Why, did he roofie it?”

“He’s married.”

_Ugh, great. Why are the sexy ones always taken?_

She ran a teasing finger over the rim of the glass. “We’re all married to something.”

“Work and passion won’t come after you for child support.”

It figured. Older men alone at bars were usually a red flag for some Bullshit™. Chloé sighed and fingered an olive. “So first you slut shame me, and now you cock-block me. You really don’t want that tip, huh?”

She made sure he was watching as she plucked the olive out of the glass and sucked on it between her pink-glossed lips. Their eyes met briefly, and she pulled the olive out with a kissing little _pop_ and gave chase with a hint of tongue. He set down the glass he’d been polishing with a louder than normal thud. His full attention secured, Chloé bit the olive in half without warning. 

The urge to cackle triumphantly was nearly overwhelming at the sight of his jaw slackening and his gaze darkening. 

_Serves you right, Bedroom Eyes._

The suit had also watched her little performance and got up from his stool to make his way toward her. Chloé popped the rest of the olive in her mouth and resolved to just get this over with. 

He leaned a hand on the bar a little too close to be entirely friendly and grinned. Bald on purpose and with a chest that filled out his blazer like a suit of armor, he was more than easy on the eyes. Chloé tended to go for older men anyway. Her gaze fell to his left ring finger, where a faint tan line betrayed his marital status even with the ring itself nowhere in sight. 

“Hello,” he said in a voice as dark and rich as her favorite eighty percent cacao. 

It really was a shame. 

“Mind if I join you?”

“No,” Chloé said, “but I imagine your wife would.”

He froze halfway onto the stool next to her. The look in his eyes was one of shock, though from his blown cover or her callous delivery was anyone’s guess. “That’s…”

Chloé slid the full martini back across the bar. “Thanks for the drink, but I’ve lost my taste for martinis tonight.”

The suit was so flustered that he blushed and hastily got out of his seat. He looked around as though afraid the whole bar had been alerted to his attempted cheating, but everyone else was too busy sucking on hooka or their drinks or each other. 

“I’ll—” He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

Chloé had seen grown men run from her before, but never to the bathroom. Maybe she’d scared the shit out of him. She snorted with laughter at her own pun. Adrien would have been _so_ proud. 

The bartender scooped up her untouched martini. “You don’t want the last olive?”

Chloé smirked up at him through her lashes. “You can have it.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes fell to her lips briefly. Quietly, he scooped the other olive out and ate it whole before dumping the martini down the sink.

“May I make a suggestion?” he asked. 

“I’ll allow it.”

“Great. Give me a minute.”

He set to work mixing something new, and soon Chloé was staring down a tumbler filled with a warm, honey colored concoction and a candied lemon twist. 

“What is it?” She picked it up and smelled it. Hints of cardamom, cayenne, and honey made her head buzz pleasantly. 

He raised an identical glass toward her. “I call it Venom.”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Of course you do.”

“ _Kanpai_.”

They clinked their glasses and Chloé took a sip. It was spicy and thick going down, and it pooled in her belly like warm molasses. But it wasn’t sweet or syrupy. It wasn’t her favorite on the first sip, but by the second and third, she was settling in quite nicely. 

“You like it,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“As you predicted I would.”

“It’s a gift.”

_I bet it is._

She took another sip. “So, you’re Japanese?”

“Half. Are you old money or new?”

Chloé laughed. “Are you profiling me?”

He shook his head. “You have to answer before you can ask a new question.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

_Ah, hello again sexy control voice._

Chloé crossed her legs under the bar to stave off the sudden flutter of heat between her thighs. Maybe it wasn’t such a pity that the married suit had hightailed it out of there. 

“Fine.” She sipped her Venom. “New money. Can you speak Japanese fluently?”

“For the most part. What kind of new money?”

The questions and answers were rapid fire. Chloé leaned forward, the game simple yet thrilling. “Hotels. Tell me something in Japanese.”

He cracked a smile. “That’s not a question.”

“That wasn’t Japanese.”

“What would you like to hear?”

She thought about it a moment. “Something…true.”

He set his glass down between his cupped hands and leaned over the bar closer to her. His eyes searched her, thinking. “ _Omae no koto…zenbu shirasete hoshii_.”

Chloé’s toes curled in her pumps. She had always found the Japanese language beautifully strange with its many voices. Adrien’s friend Kagami had explained it to her once. It was like the words themselves bent and bloomed to suit the speaker, and no two were alike. Chloé didn’t understand, but a thing did not necessarily need to be knowable to be beautiful.

“What did you say?” she asked. 

He was still smiling softly. “Something true.”

They drank their poison, and the game continued.

“Wings or gills?” he asked. 

“Wings. Speed or strength?”

“Speed. Money or fame?”

She quirked a brow. “Money. Money or power?”

He paused to bite down on his candied lemon peel. “Money.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Money or love?”

At this, Chloé hesitated. He watched her so carefully, that she was sure he had even stopped breathing. Steeling herself with another drop of poison, she said flatly, “Money.”

He looked like he wanted to press her on that, but he said nothing. The way his eyes lingered, however…

“Love or lust?” she said as nonchalantly as possible. 

“Both.”

“Greedy, aren’t we?”

“You have no idea.”

Something shifted in the air between them then. Chloé felt it like a high kicking in. She couldn’t remember when she’d stopped hearing the soft music, the other patrons around them, even the beating of her own heart. There was only him, only her, only the poison they suckled, alone and alive. 

“Show me,” she said. 

Instead of answering, he reached across the bar, stole her candied lemon twist, and slowly ate it. Chloé could honestly say she had never been so envious of a fruit in her entire life.

“Give me ten minutes,” he said. 

* * *

 

She brought the hot bartender home. He didn’t offer his place, and she didn’t ask. They both knew tonight was about her, not him. There was an unspoken structure to spontaneous passion that would not be defied. What she deigned to share, he would take. Nothing more, nothing less. 

It didn’t stop him from commenting, however. 

“You live here?” He said it like he fully expected her to refute him. 

She shrugged as she used her keycard to buzz them in to her apartment building. “I don’t break and enter on a first date.”

“I might if it was a place like this…”

Chloé lived in very upscale part of Paris with choice views of the Eiffel Tower and, of course, Le Grand Paris, where she spent the majority of her days. But the modern decor of her family’s flagship hotel was not to her personal tastes, which catered toward the traditional French. Her apartment was a cozy but spacious two bedroom, each piece of art and furniture hand-picked by professionals and artfully arranged. 

_“Like living in a painting,”_ Sabrina had swooned when Chloé first welcomed her best friend to her new apartment. 

She shucked her coat on the foyer cabinet and closed the door behind them to lock it. “Feel free to get comfortable. Do you want anything to drink?”

He was suddenly directly behind her. Warm knuckles dragged up her spine through her yellow silk camisole. “No.”

His sudden caress startled her enough that she dropped her keys. “Damnit.” She bent down to pick them up.

Long fingers hooked under her chin before she could reach them. “Leave them.”

His dark eyes blazed as he looked down on her, and Chloé was taken. Slowly, achingly, he coaxed her upright, and she rose. Lips slightly parted and eyes half-lidded, she felt the pressure of his presence in the small confines of her foyer just as she had at the bar, only now there were no prying eyes about. 

In her heels, they were of a height. He pushed his knee between her thighs, and she was forced to step back. But there was nowhere to go with the door behind her. His fingers curled under her chin as he watched her, waiting. She was about to tell him to take a fucking picture when he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, smearing her pink gloss. Chloé inhaled sharply watching him suck the gloss off his thumb. There was something incredibly lewd about the way his eyes never left her as he tasted her, and she could not stop the soft little whimper that escaped her. 

His dark eyes glimmered with undisguised mirth, and she wondered if this was pay back for her little stunt with the olive. She’d forgotten about his other hand until now when he slipped it behind her thigh and pressed them closer. Feeling his growing desire pressed against her was enough to snap her out of the spell he’d cast, and she curled her fingers in his shirt. Ripping the buttons off and exposing him seemed like a _great_ idea. 

“Be patient,” he said in that same, quietly commanding tone. The low register of his voice made her belly flutter even as her rational mind urged her to tell him to fuck off making her wait. She lingered in that liminal state of indecision, her natural tendency to be in charge warring with the thrill of relinquishing all control for just a few hours. 

He must have gleaned something of her struggle in her expression, because he hooked a finger under the thin strap of her camisole and tugged it down. He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “I’m going to make you come as many times as it takes until you let go.”

Chloé tightened her grip on his shoulders. At this rate, she might just come to the sound of his voice alone. “Bold promise.”

He smiled against her ear, and she felt the the threat of teeth. He pulled her flush against him, long fingers cupping her ass. “I can see you need a little convincing.”

Before she could process a coherent thought, he twisted his fingers in her ponytail and pulled— _hard_. She gasped at the sudden show of force immediately followed by his tongue on her neck. Teeth bit down lightly on her collarbone while his hand pulled her thigh around him. Just when she thought she might lose her mind at the sensation of teeth and pressure and soft lips on her bare skin, he rocked his hips against her and slammed them into the door behind her. 

“Oh fuck—”

Chloé choked on her words as the pent up frustration and flirtation from the last few hours came crashing down on her. Her hand went to his in her hair and pulled, but he only held her harder. He pushed against her once more, and it was her undoing. The iron grip in her hair, his tongue on her neck, and his cock pressuring her from below—

“Let go,” he said. 

Chloé lost her mind and the last of her resistance at the sound of his molten voice. Sharp pangs of pleasure rippled through her almost painfully, and all she could do was hang on to him while he rode her through it. Panting and hardly able to stand, she clung to him and tried to catch her breath. 

He released her ponytail and gently stroked her cheek. She didn’t have the energy to question the kiss he pressed to the top of her head. “Ready?” he asked. 

Boneless and pleasantly buzzed, Chloé gazed up at him. “For what?”

“For more.”

God, he hadn’t even really touched her and he’d already given her the most intense orgasm she’d felt in weeks. Not trusting her voice, she just nodded. He grinned and scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing at all. The bedroom was easy enough for him to find, and he gently deposited her on the king-sized bed. He took a moment to look at her splayed on the white duvet, and her gaze fell to his rather obvious erection. She bit her lip. 

“Come here,” he said, indicating her foot. 

Chloé had never imagined that watching a man remove her shoes could be so erotic until she watched him do it. The way he ran his fingers down the long, sharp heels as though they were an extension of her made her almost jealous of her shoes. One after the other, he removed them and tossed them on the floor. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as he leaned over her on the bed and ran his palm up her thigh. 

“I’m thinking I’ve never wanted to rip a man’s shirt off as much as I do right now.”

He chuckled softly. Goddamnit, even his laugh was hot. Low pulses of pleasure thrummed between her thighs at the thought. “So forward,” he teased. “I don’t even know your name.”

A minor detail they hadn’t gotten around to. Chloé hadn’t noticed in the midst of their flirtatious power play all night. “It’s Chloé,” she said. 

“Nice to meet you, Chloé,” he said as he fingered the top button of her pants. “I’m Luka.”

Agonizingly slowly, he popped the four buttons one by one. 

“Luka,” she repeated. “It rolls of the tongue.”

His eyes fell to her lips, and she knew he was thinking about her tongue. It gave her a few ideas. “Careful. Teasing has consequences.” He ghosted her exposed belly with his knuckles, watching her intently. “Is that what you want?”

_Yes_. 

Instead of answering, she let her eyes flutter closed as she enjoyed his touch. There was something almost reverent about the way he caressed her, as though she were his queen and he her chosen knight. 

A shift in weight on the bed was her only warning before she felt his teeth tug at the hem of her lacy thong. Her eyes flew open and she tried to get up, but he pulled her pants down in one fluid motion and pinned her knees. Teeth dragged over the thin lace separating his lips from hers, and she shuddered. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he purred between her thighs.

“There goes my dry spell,” she said, biting back a smile in anticipation. 

The vibrations of is low laughter directly over her clit made her moan. She threaded her fingers in his hair and encouraged him closer, deeper. He kissed her through her panties, his breath warm and wet. 

“Luka,” she said, squirming. 

He pulled her pants down the rest of the way and tossed them aside. “Yes?”

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Someone’s demanding.”

“ _Someone’s_ having trouble taking direction.”

He blinked guilelessly, as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ Without so much as a warning, he gripped her thighs and pulled her flush against him. Without her leather pants in the way, she felt the heated hardness of his cock directly against her core and gasped. His hands were on her wrists in an instant, and he loomed over her. 

“I told you there would be consequences, Princess.” He leaned closer, and she felt the brush of his chest against her nipples through her silk camisole. “No…you’re no one’s little princess, are you? You’re the queen.”

Chloé could not see herself, but if the rush of heat to her neck and cheeks and the hazy look in his eyes were anything to go by, she was sure she made quite the flushed, horny sight just then. 

“A queen used to doling out orders all day,” he went on. His grip on her wrists tightened just shy of painful, and he lowered his lips to hers until they barely brushed. “Not tonight.”

Like a fucking amateur, she rose to kiss him, but he pulled away before she got the chance. Chloé could have kicked herself if she had a rational bone left in her body, but it turned to jelly under Luka’s touch and teasing, and she couldn’t find it in herself to wallow. 

He slithered lower over her body. “I made you a promise, my queen.” His hands abandoned her wrists and he hooked his fingers around the lacy straps of her thong. “So let me serve you.”

Chloé’s legs trembled as he pulled her panties off and settled himself between her thighs. He hooked one of her knees over his shoulder and massaged her calf with his other hand. Chloé bit her lip and fisted her duvet, the waiting absolutely agonizing. But there would be no rushing him, he’d made that clear. 

Slowly, deliberately, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Chloé squirmed, but his grip on her legs was strong. She caught him watching her with a dark, commanding lust she’d never known before. When she opened her mouth to speak, he pressed his lips to hers again and explored her with his tongue. 

“Holy— _shit_ …”

Chloé saw stars as she writhed in ecstasy. Luka’s teeth brushed over her clit as he fucked her with nothing but his tongue. His fingers dug into her thigh as she thrashed, unable to control herself. The pressure would surely leave a mark—his mark—and oh god that thought went right to her clit and she absolutely could _not_ —

Her second orgasm of the night brought tears to her eyes and rang in her ears. At some point she’d buried her fingers in Luka’s hair again, and it was a miracle she hadn’t yanked it all out in her thrashing. As she slowly awakened from the haze of pleasure, she felt him kiss her tenderly one last time. 

Chloé’s entire body buzzed blissfully as she lay there, convinced there was nothing in the world that could get her to move now. Luka wiped his lips of her and sank down on the bed beside her. He propped himself up on one elbow and caught her few stray tears on his thumb. For a moment, they simply watched each other. 

“What?” she slurred, her high beginning to subside. He continued to look at her, his thumb tracing her temple, like he was trying to figure something out. 

“You’re incredibly beautiful,” he said. 

Chloé smiled. 

Genuinely, she smiled. Countless times in her life she had been called beautiful. It was no secret that she was, especially to her own eyes. But there was something about the quiet reverence with which Luka called her beautiful that touched her more deeply than the rest. Maybe it was the high of her second orgasm in under half an hour, or the thrill of a new partner. Maybe it had something (everything) to do with how he’d just eaten her out with more enthusiasm and quiet sensuality than anyone ever had. There was a truth in his words that moved her. She felt them in her bones, and she had the sudden, bizarre urge to cry for real. 

He returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own—not a sexy smirk promising further pleasures, but something genuine and even kind. “You are,” he said again. 

She turned on her side to face him and snaked her fingers up his (unfortunately) still clothed chest to his lips. If he kissed her mouth half as well as he’d kissed her pussy, she might never let him leave. “Kiss me.”

His smile turned playful. He caught her wrist and pressed the heel of her palm to his lips for a long, chaste kiss. Slowly, he moved to pressed another long kiss to her wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. Lust pooled in her core once again watching him watching her and silently defying her every command. 

“Take off your shirt,” he said after planting a kiss on her bare shoulder. 

Chloé lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, followed by the hair tie holding her ponytail. Thick, blonde tresses fell about her shoulders, and she realized she’d done something very, _very_ right. Luka’s lips parted as he buried a hand in her hair and coiled it around his fingers. Feeling a little cheeky, she threw her leg over his waist and flipped them on his back. A bit of working her fingers, and her strapless bra fell away, leaving her bare. 

“Fuck,” he rasped as she lowered her weight over his hips. 

Chloé smirked devilishly, fully prepared to give him a taste of his own medicine. She began unbuttoning his shirt, but it was taking too long and there were too many buttons. So she ripped the rest of them off. Buttons went flying, and soon his bare chest was exposed to her wandering eye. She flattened her palms over his toned stomach, but he caught her wrists again. 

“If you keep that up, I won’t last long enough to please you,” he said, a little breathless. 

She hadn’t even noticed the turn in his expression when she’d ripped his shirt open, like he’d been waiting for someone to do that for years. It was the look of a man ready to bend her over the bed and fuck her senseless. And honestly, she was ready to let him. 

“You _are_ pleasing me,” she said. 

Something about him made her bold in ways she normally was not. His hand still on her wrist, she squeezed her own breast and flipped her long hair. The effect was nearly instantaneous. He grabbed her hips, pulled her to him as he sat up, and attacked her breast with his mouth. Chloé cried out as he bit down on her nipple and coiled his fingers in her hair with a force that reminded her of her first orgasm in the foyer. 

“Ah, Luka…” she panted in his lap. 

She slowly lost her mind as he sucked her off and pulled her hair. His lips moved to kiss along the valley between her breasts, and the hand in her hair swept over her breast. Chloé hugged his head close to her chest as his fingers worked her nipple—pinching and rolling it and driving her absolutely mad. 

Too mad. She was so done waiting, to hell with the game. She pushed his shirt down over his shoulders and went for his belt next. She managed to get it unbuckled by the time his hands found hers again. 

“Chloé,” he said. 

She stilled at that familiar commanding tone in his voice and looked at him. There was a smolder in his gaze that curled her toes, and to hell with it. She lowered her face to his and kissed him passionately. Whatever demand he may have made of her died on his lips as he kissed her back with intention to devour. Teeth and tongue scraped her lips and swallowed her whole. She drew her first moan from him of the night, and holy fuck it felt good. She buried both hands in his hair and pulled him closer. His palms were hot as they roamed her back, her waist, her breasts. Every inch of him felt so good. 

He bit her bottom lip with a little more force, and she whimpered. His fingers squeezed her hips in forewarning, and he flipped them once again. The loss of him was cold and abrupt, and she did _not_ like it. 

Until she heard the whisper of leather on fabric and watched him slip his belt out of his pant loops. His shirt followed suit. “Seems to me like you’re the greedy one, my queen.”

“You have no idea,” she shot back, recalling their conversation back at the bar. 

He smirked. Deft fingers unzipped his pants, and soon he was as bare as she was. Chloé sucked in a breath at the sight of him, and she ached. God, it really had been a while since she’d last gotten laid. It had been even longer since she’d gotten laid _well_. 

He rolled on a condom, and it was perhaps the saddest sight Chloé had seen all night. If she’d been quicker, she may have had a chance to sample more of him. He must have guessed her thoughts, because he laughed as he slinked toward her like a stalking jungle cat. “Don’t look so upset. The night’s young.”

“We’re burning the midnight oil here—ah!” Chloé shivered when he dipped two fingers inside her and pressured her soaked clit with his thumb. “Damnit…”

Luka pressed a longing kiss to her mouth. “Just so you know, your pussy’s fucking gorgeous.” Another kiss to her temple, another finger inside her, stretching. “I would stay here all night if you’ll have me.”

Chloé whimpered and rocked her hips against his palm, but his thumb pressed back on her clit and paralyzed her with pleasure. She grabbed him by the hair with one hand and slipped her free fingers low around his balls. “I’ll have you _now_.”

She’d caught him by surprise, and it showed. He fisted her duvet with his free hand like he meant to rip it off. His breathing came in short and shallow against her cheek, and he screwed his eyes shut. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he managed. 

“Not before you keep your promise.” She squeezed his balls to drive her point home and earned herself a heated kiss full on the lips. 

His fingers were gone from her, but before she could fully register their absence, he thrust inside her with a force that betrayed his dwindling self-control. Chloé gasped and clung to his shoulders, temporarily unable to think of anything but the feeling of his cock sheathed completely inside her. His hand found her hair again and locked. The other fell to her hip with promise. 

For a moment, he pulled back and held her gaze. Mouth slightly agape and eyes dark with lust, she could only look up at him and hope he could read her mind. 

“Luka…”

The sound of his name in _her_ voice set him off, and suddenly he was moving, thrusting, the grip on her hip bruising as he anchored her to the bed and fucked her like it was their last night on Earth. Chloé cried out and thrashed her head, but she didn’t get far with his hand clamped around her hair and pulling, exposing her neck to his greedy lips. 

“Yes, yes—!” she moaned. 

He said something in breathy Japanese that she didn’t understand, but it only made her want him deeper. She hooked her legs high around his waist and found his lips. Their kiss was messy and furious, blind with passion and desperate for each other, and she loved every second of it. She loved every second of him, his touch, those soft lips, the threat of teeth, his cock pulsing inside her as he ground her down deeper into the bed and—

“Let go,” he said against her lips, his commanding tone colored with lust and desire. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you—ah!”

She clenched around him, and he bit down hard on her lip. The sharp pain sent her head spinning, and it was all she could do to hold on to him as she came. Two final thrusts milked her for every last ounce of pleasure she had, and he followed soon after. Dead tired and more than sated, they collapsed onto the bed together. 

Wordlessly, Luka planted a soft kiss to Chloé’s forehead before pulling out and disposing of the spent condom. For a couple minutes, they lay there side by side catching their breaths. As she came down from her post-coital high and settled in a sleepy-happy haze, Chloé vaguely entertained the thought of sending him on his way. He’d done his job, and she had work in the morning. 

He turned to look at her then, the look on his face peacefully pensive but not smiling, and she knew he would go. If she asked him to leave, he would go without complaint. If she never wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. She didn’t even know his last name, and he hadn’t asked for her number. She could ask him to leave forever, and he would be gone.

“What did you say?” she asked instead, rolling over to face him. 

“What do you mean?” He rolled on his side to face her, too. 

“At the bar, when you spoke in Japanese. What did you say?”

He studied her face carefully as if to remember it. Chloé remembered how he’d called her beautiful before and truly meant it, and she felt a faint heat color her cheeks. He brushed his fingers over her temple to tuck her bangs behind her ear. “I said want to know you,” he said, soft and almost vulnerable. “All of you.”

Her breath hitched. This was crazy; she didn’t even know him. He was a stranger just a few hours ago, and since then they’d bantered, flirted, and he’d given her three amazing orgasms without asking for anything in return except to know her. And he hadn’t even really asked her for that. 

Chloé bit her lip and traced her fingers down his chest. Muscle, lean but toned, rippled in response to her touch, a little ticklish. “Well then,” she said, inching closer and drawing her fingers lower until they brushed his semi erect cock. “The night’s still young.”

He sucked in a sharp breath when she took him full in her hand and squeezed. Warm palms snaked around her waist and held her close. “We’ll be burning the midnight oil, then.”

She smirked and leaned in to kiss him. “Let it burn.”

It was well past midnight when they finally slept, tangled up in each other.

* * *

 

The next morning, Luka woke to find himself in a place he did not remember. The bed was far too soft and large to be his ten-year-old double mattress that dipped in the middle, and the honey and vanilla scents were nothing like the pot and peppermint of his own loft apartment. He turned over in bed only to find it empty, and that was enough to draw him out of sleep. Yawning, he looked around the room he’d spent the night in. A digital clock on the nightstand read 10:08 a.m. He didn’t have to be at work until 4 p.m. today. It was a good day. 

Stretching, he got out of bed stark naked and peered through the lilac curtains. Cars filled the busy street below, which was lined with designer boutiques, chic cafes, and the famous five-star hotel, Le Grand Paris. The Eiffel Tower itself rose up ahead in perfect, spectacular view. Not a view he was used to seeing from his usual haunts. 

Chloé was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t surprised, but he paused a moment to consider the pang of disappointment he felt at the thought. Huh.

There was a fresh bath towel left conspicuously folded at the foot of the bed. Sighing, Luka decided to just shower and get out of here. If she didn’t want to see him the morning after, he couldn’t really fault her. But as the warm water washed the last traces of her down the drain, he found himself trying to hold on to a piece of her. That luscious hair that wanted pulling, and those blue eyes holding his, holding her, her mouth, her mouth holding him, taking him in and under, oh fuck her mouth…

Shuddering, Luka took himself in hand and beat off to the memory of her pink lips kissing his cock like she kissed that goddamn fucking olive. He braced a hand on the tile wall as the water pounded his back mercilessly, wishing the scraping droplets were her nails raking him like embers. 

_“Let it burn,”_ he heard her phantom voice as she watched him with those big, blue eyes and her mouth, her fucking mouth—

Luka groaned as he came all over the wall and sank bonelessly onto the tiled bench to recover. After a minute or two, he dutifully cleaned up all traces of himself from her shower wall. Honestly, he was surprised he still had anything left in him after last night’s prurient marathon. He’d come three times last night, once in her mouth…

He dunked his head under the blasting water and put that thought out of his mind before he had yet another problem on his hands. If nothing else, the memory would remain with him long after this to fill the lonely nights without her. 

He shut off the water and let that thought hang. The empty disappointment lingered like a bad smell. And yeah, okay, he wasn’t going to lie to himself. It sucked. She was amazing, he’d had an amazing time with her, and she was just…amazing. Just his luck that he’d meet someone worth pursuing only to be kicked to the curb. Oh well, such was life, and he would respect her wishes, as much as they sucked for him. At least it would make a hell of a story one day. 

Luka finished up in the bathroom and got dressed, only to find that he kind of couldn’t. She’d ripped half the buttons from his shirt last night. Despite his disappointment over probably never seeing her again, which was seriously snowballing at this point because _goddamn, woman_ , he laughed at himself. 

“Way to pick ‘em, Couffaine,” he muttered to himself. “You and your goddamn kinks…”

Even better when they were subverted right from under him. There was nothing like ruling a ruler only to have her pay him back twofold. Turnabout was fair play, after all. 

Still, he resigned himself to the truth. It had been a one-night stand, as he’d known coming in to this. He almost wished it had been a mediocre one that ended in her kicking him to the curb in the middle of the night if only to avoid this annoying disappointment. 

Almost. 

With his shirt halfway buttoned and his dignity back in the shower where it honestly probably belonged, he trudged to the door to let himself out. 

…Only to find a handwritten note taped to the door. The script was simple and neat, very professional. He pulled it off and read it. 

_I want to know all of you, too._

Luka swallowed hard, his heart pounding. Chloé’s cell number was written below the rather intimate note. Slowly, stupidly, he broke into a goofy grin and laughed. All traces of his simmering disappointment evaporated, and he inhaled a deep, full breath of honey and vanilla. 

Today was definitely going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all…I don’t even know. Honestly cannot even believe I wrote this. I'd like to thank my two muses: all the lovely fanart that's been cropping up recently, and wine. It is done and now I can move on.
> 
> Link to the sinful AF song that inspired this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VOE-DI5B3Y


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